The Handkerchief
by MariaLujan
Summary: The trip to the sanatorium is full of unsaid words


The sound of the car wanted to blunt his ears and all his senses but nothing could get him out of the bubble in which he was looking at her. Everything was happening too fast, he had fallen in love, he miserably mistakenly kissed her hand, he discovered that she had a terrible disease and now he was taking her to a place he did not know if she would leave it. All that in a few days, in a maelstrom of feelings that he could not put in order, where the guilt won them all. Stupid, Idiot man, you fall in love with a nun, and worse, the most angelic woman you met. The guilt was increased because he could not stop looking at her, even if it was with the corner of his eye. He wanted to apologize in some way, but he could not even articulate an absurd comment about the weather to break the tension in the small cabin.

The trip to the sanatorium was getting long due to the traffic and a fine rain was beginning to fall. In a curve, he looked at her again, she was staring straight ahead, almost without blinking. He wanted her to look at him, to know that she saw him as a person, that she did not ignore him. He hated himself again, he was being selfish, she had a lot to think about, instead of him. He looked at her again, this time she had her eyes on the window. He swallowed, the wimple she wore did not cover the whole of his sight to her thin, pale neck. He pressed his hands on the steering wheel, how could he notice these things? Every time he was more lost, his mind was going anywhere and everywhere took him to her.

He decided to take all his strength and concentrate on the road now free of cars ahead of them. It would take them only a short time to arrive to the sanatorium because there was no such traffic. He heard a sigh and looked at her. Again she had her eyes fixed on the road, and he saw her chest rise and fall quickly. Suddenly, without warning he heard a sob.

"No, no, no…" he said softly, extending his hand to touch her shoulder but at the last moment he refrained from doing so. He turned his hand to the steering wheel and stopped the car in the side of the road.

"Do not worry, let's go," she said, looking up at the road again. She put all her bravery in her order, but her voice betrayed her.

"You can take your time," he felt his heart break when he saw her so defeated, "I can get out of the car and leave you alone for a while until you recover."

She shook her head and looked for a handkerchief in her sleeves, but he offered his.

"I have one here, thank you."

"Take this, please."

She took it doubtfully and took off her glasses. Please, how beautiful she was, he felt special to see her without them. She wiped her eyes and looked at the handkerchief. Then she let out another sob and shook her head.

What could he do? With other people he would try a pat on the shoulder, a word of comfort, a caress in the hair, as he did with his son. But with her he wanted to do all that and more, he wanted to embrace her to the end of the world, he wanted to protect her from all the pain that was drained in her tears. But she was not his, she belonged to someone superior, someone he did not believe in and now he knew that this superior was making fun of him, putting on this wonderful woman in his way without even allowing him to touch her.

Sister Bernadette took the handkerchief again and wiped her eyes.

"I´m sorry."

He swallowed. She asked for forgiveness, when the world should had to ask her forgiveness for making her suffer in this way.

"Don´t ask for forgiveness. Sometimes crying is good."

It was stupid to say that, of thousands of things he could say, he said that. You're the stupidest man in the world, Turner, he repeated himself a dozen times, while he watched her with her gaze locked on her lap, squeezing his handkerchief.

"In this case, crying isn´t good for me, it doesn´t solves nothing."

Then she looked at him. She looked at him and his world stopped, his breathing cut off, he thought he was dead. Her blue eyes glittered with tears, and still they were like a sea swallowing him.

"I don´t want to die," she confessed and pressed her lips together to suppress a sob that seemed to squeeze in her throat.

If she had dared to look at him like that, he must have dared too. So he touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and he wanted to cry too, because he could feel her delicate skin near his rough fingers, and because she was too beautiful to be his, and because for an instant, he could give her peace.

"You're not going to die."

She opened her eyes, her gaze changed, now she was filled with anger.

"You don´t know, nobody knows. Don´t lie to me."

"No, I don´t know," he admitted, "but if I could die in your place, I would. And I would never lie to you."

She looked down.

"You shouldn´t say that, it's wrong. This is my punishment for this situation. Take me to the sanatorium. Please."

He took his hand from her cheek, nodding. She put on her glasses again, folded the handkerchief with another sob, and handed it to him.

"Keep it, please."

"No" she answered, without looking at him. He took it, knowing that all he would have of her, would be her tears.


End file.
